TITLE: A Suitcase for the Moon 
AUTHOR: Snark
E-MAIL: snark_911@yahoo.com

SPOILERS: Huge plot spoilers for Without. 

SUMMARY: 
The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
 --W.H. Auden

CLASSIFICATION: Angst. Scully/Skinner friendship. Implied
Mulder/Scully romance.

RATING: PG-13

DISTRIBUTION: OK to forward to the Spookys, ATXC 
newsgroup, Xemplary and Gossamer. Please ask permission 
before archiving anywhere else. If you already have one 
of my stories, permission is granted, but still let me know 
you are archiving this one too.

DISCLAIMER: I'm just borrowing. I promise to bring them back.

FEEDBACK: Accepted happily at snark_911@yahoo.com.

ALL STORIES CAN BE FOUND AT AUTHOR'S HOMEPAGE: 
http://www.smartania.com/snark/


-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-



"How do you know that they're your men?"

Scully screamed it, flailing her arm at the seeming foolishness of 
the man before her. How could he see what he has seen and still 
be like this, she fumed, turning and stalking away from him. 
How can he refuse to understand that people are not always who 
they appear to be?

She heard him call out to her, but she refused to answer him. The 
chop of the helicopter blades made discussion difficult anyway, 
so she simply crossed the space to the helicopter without a glance 
back. Doggett caught up to her just as they reached it.

They climbed into the helicopter, Scully too angry to notice that 
Doggett stepped back to allow her through first. The flight was 
loud but mercifully short as they returned to the school--the 
spotlight showed the rolling landscape speeding past as they 
flew. The machine had barely touched down before she was out 
of her seat and heading towards the parked vehicles nearby.

"Agent Scully, hold up now," Doggett called as he moved after 
her. A hand on her shoulder brought her to a halt, though gently. 
"Hold up and talk to me. You can't seriously believe what you 
told me earlier, all that nonsense about alien bounty hunters and 
shape-shifting." He ran a hand through his hair, bringing it 
around to massage his forehead for a moment.

"You *saw* it, Agent Doggett. You saw it as clearly as you're 
seeing me now," Scully snapped. She stabbed a finger at the 
school grounds behind her. "You saw two of me this afternoon. 
Hell, Agent Doggett, you helped me chase *me* through that 
bunkhouse, yet you deny it. One of your men will never be able 
to be in the same room with me again, no matter what he is told, 
yet you claim it is nonsense."

"I don't *know* what I saw in there, Agent Scully. Something 
strange, yes," Doggett replied, his voice rising in frustration. 
"Something I can't explain quite yet, yes. Something that I'm not 
afraid to admit confused the hell out of me. But that doesn't mean 
I'm going to go chalking it up to shape-shifting aliens or men 
who are not men. I can't. I won't."

"Yet without a second's hesitation, even after acknowledging that 
something 'strange' happened today, you'll send those very men 
to guard a boy, a 12-year old little boy who is the very target of 
all of this," Scully said. "A very safe, risk-free decision I'm sure, 
Agent Doggett."

She continued walking towards the line of SUVs along the 
building, but soon remembered Skinner had already 
commandeered theirs to transport Gibson. She whirled around, 
prepared to confront Doggett and demand a vehicle from him, 
but was surprised to find him already motioning her over.

"We're going the same way, Agent Scully," he said, making his 
way over to a black Jeep. The distinctive chirp of the disengaging 
security system sounded in the darkness. "Might as well go 
together."

Reluctantly, Scully opened the door and climbed in, buckling 
herself in as Doggett raced the Jeep from the school grounds.


                     * * * * * * *


Skinner had refused to let Gibson out of his sight since laying 
him on the gurney when they'd arrived. He'd thrown on his best 
Assistant Director for the FBI so-you-damn-well-better-let-me-
through face and followed the boy as he journeyed through the 
hospital. They had put Gibson under a light anesthetic when they 
set the broken leg, and Skinner now stood vigil over the sleeping 
boy at his bedside. There was no way in hell he was getting more 
than ten feet from this kid until Scully arrived.

Scully.

She was out there somewhere, running around in the desert at 
night, chasing only the gods knew what, while he remained 
safely behind hospital doors and surrounded by ten other agents. 
He knew he'd had no choice but to rush the boy in, but it didn't 
make him feel any better as some of his fear for Scully rose to 
the surface. In her condition, she should be sitting behind a desk, 
not chasing alien ships in the darkness. 

Skinner chuckled softly as he realized just how quickly Scully 
would pin his face to the floor with his ass if she ever heard him 
say, or even think, such a sentiment. And somewhere in his 
logical mind, he knew perfectly well that Scully was the same 
capable, physically adept woman he'd always known.

But somewhere else in his mind, somewhere back in a small 
room marked 'Hard to Hide Male Instincts,' he felt his 
protectiveness rise up and point out "But she's *pregnant*."

His logical mind was having a hard time winning against such 
simplicity.

As he watched Gibson rest peacefully for perhaps first time in 
hours, Skinner tried to remember exactly when he'd realized how 
much he truly cared for his two agents. The fear he'd felt as 
Mulder had disappeared, the fear he felt now as he waited for 
Scully--when had that surfaced?

He again laughed softly, remembering how many times they had 
sat in those two chairs opposite his desk, driving him mad with 
another case more strange than the last. Remembering all the 
times in the past years he'd wanted to kill the both of them with 
his bare hands over one bizarre report or another. 

When had that feeling been replaced by the concern and throat-
closing worry that consumed him now? 

Skinner ran his hands over his tired face, clasping them behind 
his neck as he rested his elbows on his knees. If he'd hoped to 
find some answers on the floor beneath him, the gray-flecked 
surface was decidedly closemouthed.

Gibson moved slightly and Skinner immediately rose to move 
closer. He wanted to make sure if the boy woke up, he was 
quickly reassured he was safe and under protection at all times. 
But Gibson only shifted his weight a bit, settling back down 
without waking up.

Skinner stepped over to the small table and finished the glass of 
water the nurse had brought him earlier. It had the slightly over-
cleansed taste indicative of hospitals, but it was refreshing 
nonetheless--he'd gone far too long without liquids in this dry 
desert air.

He hoped Scully had returned to the school by now, but feared 
she was still out there somewhere. He could see her in his mind's 
eye, slowly criss-crossing the terrain, calling out. Searching for 
him, for the one person she could not live without.

And I'm the bastard that lost him, Skinner thought. I'm the one 
who wasn't fifty feet from Mulder at all times, yet he slipped 
right through my fingers. 

Skinner had been deeply moved when Scully had spoken to him 
that night after the strange meeting with Mulder's three friends 
and Krycek. "I need you to help me, sir," she'd said quietly as 
they stood out in the hall. "I need you to go with Mulder on this 
trip...

"I need you to keep him safe for me." 

He had promised her he would, had promised he wouldn't let 
Mulder out of his sight. She'd looked straight at him, then, and 
Skinner had never felt someone was looking right through to his 
soul as he did at that moment. "Thank you, si-... thank you, 
Walter," she'd said, touching his hand briefly before going to join 
Mulder.

A few hours later, Mulder was gone.

And as Skinner had stood at Scully's bedside later, listening as 
she had told him of her pregnancy, he had been consumed with 
horror and guilt. He rarely shed tears, but as he had realized he'd 
deprived her of the one thing she needed most, he had collapsed 
at her bedside and wept. Her tears had joined his a few moments 
later.

Sitting by another bed in another hospital room, Skinner swore to 
himself that he would never be the cause of her tears again. 


                     * * * * * * *


Scully watched the shadowy landscape roll past as Doggett drove 
away from the school. It was about a half-hour drive to the 
hospital, yet Doggett looked to be shaving that by at least a third. 
Each darkened shape rose to life for just the briefest of moments, 
lit by the side glow of the headlights, before falling away into the 
void behind. The moon stood watch over everything, silent and 
glowing like an eye from another universe.

Scully looked up at it, transfixed as she always was when she had 
time to notice it. Such a simple thing really, the moon was. A 
small white circle, sometimes not even a full one at that, tacked 
up in the sky each night by an unseen hand. It wasn't a 
particularly interesting spatial object--it didn't change color or 
move quickly across the sky or appear only once every two 
centuries. It just hung there, night after night, quietly watching 
the earth below.

Yet the moon speaks to me, Scully thought as she stared 
upwards. It reminds me of the truth, of the need to remember that 
all things are possible. 

Even finding Mulder.

Scully closed her eyes and he was there. She felt his hand brush 
her face as he quirked a smile at her, his eyes bright and alive. He 
was always right there these past days, right under the surface of 
her, waiting for her as her eyes slid shut. 

She prayed that soon he would still be there as she opened them.

/The stars are not wanted now; put out every one. Pack up the 
moon and dismantle the sun./

The snippet of poetry wound its way through to her consciousness. 
Brow furrowing, Scully found she could remember neither the poem's 
title nor any other lines, yet she was not surprised she had 
thought of it now--she knew it came from a poem about the loss of 
a loved one.

Even though she truly believed Mulder was still alive, a tiny part 
of her kept rearing up to say "But what if he's not." She felt it try 
to claw its way up into her mind even now, but managed to once 
again thrust it back to its dark room.

Please don't leave me, Mulder, she thought as she edged the door 
shut on her fear. Please don't make me pack away the moon.


                     * * * * * * *


Skinner was roused from his thoughts by movement from 
Gibson's bed. Glancing over to see if the boy would fully wake 
this time, Skinner was surprised to see Gibson's eyes open wide, 
his body jerking forward.

"Gibson, hey. It's okay, buddy," Skinner said as he moved to the 
bedside. "You're in the hospital, you're safe."

"No," Gibson said, his voice cracking in that strange way of his. 
"No, none of us is safe. Someone is here."

"Yeah, there's about ten federal agents outside, a nurse dedicated 
specifically to you, and me," Skinner said. "Everything is okay." 
The boy didn't reply this time, trying desperately to sit more 
upright as he stared at the open door.
  
"Lie down, Gibson. Lie down," Skinner soothed. He didn't want 
to see the boy risk hurting his leg further. Gibson glanced briefly 
at him, his eyes full of panic, then continued to watch the 
entryway.

Skinner twisted to look behind him, seeing nothing but the chairs 
in the empty hallway. He turned back to Gibson, wanting the boy 
to remain calm and relaxed, but there was no mistaking the pure 
fear that engulfed the boy's face. Skinner couldn't understand 
what the boy was reacting to, but some heightened shift in the 
boy's eyes caused Skinner to turn once again.

He raised his eyebrows as the girl from the school entered the 
room, closing the door behind her. Though not surprised the 
boy's friend would come to visit him, Skinner was confused as to 
how she could have gotten here so quickly. She must have caught 
a ride wi-

"She's not Thea," Gibson said quietly. Skinner glanced back at 
him, the calmness of the boy's tone completely at odds with the 
horror rising in his eyes. "She's not Thea."

But of course it's her, Skinner thought as he turned back to the 
girl. She's right there...

Except it wasn't her anymore. Skinner stared as the cut-off shirt 
and dirty blond hair melted away, the figure before him growing 
taller and wider as it shifted. Within a single second, the small 
and ragged teenager had been replaced by a full-grown man, his 
hardened eyes focused only on Gibson. Not a man, Skinner 
corrected himself as he stared.

I'm standing in the room with an alien.

Oh my god.


 -/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-


"Can I ask you something, Agent Scully?" Doggett's voice rang 
out through the Jeep, startling Scully completely. Her eyes 
snapped open, the image of Mulder replaced by the uniformly 
unsatisfying image of the Jeep's dash. Irritated he had caught her 
by surprise, she shifted her weight a bit, brushing a hand over her 
eyes as she looked over at him.

"Are you going to ask me why I didn't tell you about Gibson, 
why I kept that information from *your* investigation?" she 
asked, knowing Doggett was mad about that one.

"No, I already know why you didn't tell me that," Doggett 
replied. When he saw her eyebrows rise in surprise, he 
continued. "You don't like me, Agent Scully, but more than that, 
you don't trust me. You haven't trusted me since the moment you 
laid eyes on me, not that I gave you much reason to initially." 
Scully felt a small measure of satisfaction at the admission. 

"And in a way, I have no problem with that. I play my cards 
pretty close to my vest as well, Agent Scully," Doggett said, 
pulling the Jeep out into the other lane to pass a small car. "But 
you need to step back and really look at this situation objectively 
for a minute. I've done nothing since being assigned to this case 
expect try to solve it. I've done nothing but take the information 
I've been given and try to find the answers.

"Gibson Praise is a big part of those answers, and you should 
have at least had the courtesy to inform me that he was safe, even 
if you didn't want to reveal his location," Doggett said. "I would 
have respected that you were trying to work with me in your own 
way and gone from there."

Scully wanted to reply scathingly, to melt the man's infuriating 
sincerity with a single well-placed phrase, yet she found herself 
unable to do so. 

Because he was right. She should never have left Gibson out in 
the desert for so long--she shouldn't have left him out there for 
even a minute with the injury he had sustained. She knew she 
should have rushed him to the hospital immediately, arranged for 
his protection on her own, and then informed Doggett the boy 
was safe.
  
"It's OK, Agent Scully," Doggett said, putting up a hand in a 
calming manner as he saw her struggling with what to say. "You 
did what you felt you had to do, and it's all over with now 
anyway. I'm not worried about that anymore."

"Then what did you want to ask me?" Scully replied, glad for the 
chance to say something that didn't need to begin with 'You're 
right, Agent Doggett.'

"Why do you believe?" he said quietly. "Why do you believe the 
stories you've told me so far?"

She was somewhat surprised by the question--it certainly wasn't 
what she'd expected him to ask  her. "I'm not sure what you 
mean, Agent."

"You are, by all accounts, as rational a person that has ever 
walked the earth," Doggett said as he slowed the Jeep. They were 
finally entering town, the hospital but a few blocks away. 
"You've worked side by side with Agent Mulder for seven years, 
and never in that time have you ever made any official notice of 
his wild theories or made any claims other than those of science.

"So why now? Why come to me and tell me of men who are not 
men, of aliens who are here to hunt down Gibson Praise?

"Why do you believe now?"

Scully saw nothing but curiosity in Doggett's face, nothing but 
an honest interest in knowing the answer. She wouldn't have 
believed he was capable of such a thing, yet there it was. She 
turned away for a minute, leaning her head against the window 
beside her as they pulled into the hospital parking lot.

The moon watched her. Silent, waiting.

"Because, Agent Doggett, I should have believed all along."


                     * * * * * * *


Skinner felt himself react before he completely processed what 
he was reacting to. He launched himself at the alien, intending to 
send them both crashing into the door--the agents in the hallway 
outside would be alerted immediately.

Unfortunately for Skinner, the alien was far, far quicker than he 
was. As he dove, the alien simply sidestepped him, grabbing him 
up around the waist to halt his motion. Skinner twisted in the grip 
but could not break free. 

As he opened his mouth to yell, the alien brought an elbow 
down. Even as he tried to pull back, Skinner felt it crack against 
his skull. Hard. His vision blurred slightly as his ears rang. He 
wanted to fight, he wanted to get his feet under him and bag this 
bastard, but his body was turning to jelly even as he tried.

The alien dropped him suddenly, sending his body tumbling to 
the floor at its feet. Skinner struggled to rise, thinking if only he 
could stand up, he could do something. He saw the alien bring its 
hand down across something in its other palm. 

Something green bubbled to the surface of the alien's hand, but 
that was the last pain-free thought Skinner had. He felt his eyes 
begin to burn as his throat closed up. Fingers clawing at his face, 
Skinner tried to scream, but nothing more than an agonized groan 
escaped him. 

Fighting to keep his eyes open, he watched as the alien quickly 
grabbed Gibson and pushed him through the ceiling tiles to the 
space above. Seconds later, Skinner felt himself lifted into the air 
as well, his shoulders smashing against the edges as he was 
shoved through. His vision swam as he caught sight of Gibson, 
reaching out to touch his arm as the alien came up through the 
tiles. The last thing he saw was the alien motioning for Gibson to 
move forward, the two of them quickly disappearing in the 
darkness.

Skinner began to convulse as consciousness waned, certain his 
death was mere moments away. His last thoughts were of Scully, 
willing her to find Mulder. Keep searching until you find him, 
Dana, he thought, and when you do...

Tell him I'm sorry.


                     * * * * * * *


"No one's getting past us, Agent Scully. No one's gotten past us."

Scully scoffed at the arrogance of the agent in the hospital. If 
only he knew exactly what, in all likelihood, had already gotten 
past him, his arrogance would give way to needing a new pair of 
pants.

"You believe that, Agent Doggett?" she asked, looking over at 
him. They shared a long look, each holding the other's gaze 
steadily.

C'mon, Doggett, Scully thought. You just asked me why, now do 
it yourself. Believe. Believe the right thing, just this one time.

A moment later, Doggett broke the gaze, striding over to 
Gibson's door. "Hey, if something tries to rip your throat out, I 
got you covered," she said, unable to resist the 'I told you so' 
comment, but honestly offering protection nonetheless. What 
was earned would be given.

As Doggett called out for Skinner to open the door, Scully 
prayed for there to be an answering growl of 'You just woke a 
sleeping little boy, Agent' from within. Please be in there, 
Skinner, please be in there.

The room was empty.

No, no, no, Scully thought as she quickly began searching nearby 
rooms. She was shouting out to the hospital staff, making sure 
everyone began searching for Gibson, but her thoughts were only 
of Skinner. This can't be happening. This can't be happening. Not 
Skinner, too--I can't lose them both.

She had never been certain what had finally pushed her to trust 
Skinner completely. She and Mulder both had been given plenty 
of reasons in the past to question his motives and keep their 
distance. But somewhere along the way, she'd looked up at him 
and seen nothing but a friend. And in the past few days, he'd 
been the only friend she'd had. 

I'm relying on him too heavily, she'd chastised herself more than 
once. I should be strong, standing on my own, getting this done 
alone. 

But he hadn't let her. From the moment he'd stepped into that 
hospital room, desperately searching for a way to tell her what 
had happened, he had refused to let her pull away. He had held 
her as she cried that night, and he had stayed by her side ever 
since. Listening to her, keeping her focused, refusing to let her 
run off on her own. 

Yet that's exactly what I let him do, she berated herself. I let him 
go with Gibson alone, when I should have been right there with 
him. He could be injured or dying or dead, because I thought 
only of myself.

Forgive me, Walter.

She continued down the hall, opening each door swiftly to search 
for Skinner and the boy. She saw Doggett's men fanning out 
down each of the hallways and hoped yet again they really were 
Doggett's men.

"Agent Scully."

Scully whirled around, pulling up her gun even as she turned. 
Skinner stood there, peeking out from behind a half-opened room 
door--same clothes, same mannerisms, same voice. It's him, she 
though as relief flooded through her.

"It's okay, I've got him. Gibson," Skinner whispered, poking his 
head out to look up and down the hallways.

The relief was seared away by a rush of confusion. Why mention 
the boy's name, she wondered. Who else does he think I would 
assume he meant? And-

"How did you get here? How did you get him out of that room?" 
she asked, keeping her gun trained on him as she edged closer. 

"We went up through the ceiling. I don't know who to trust," 
Skinner implored, again looking fearfully up the hall. Scully 
grew more uncertain as each second passed. Damn it, it *looks* 
like Skinner, she thought. How could she be sure? She shook her 
head slightly, focusing on the immediate concern.

"Where is he?" she asked, again stepping closer.

"He's right here. They're going to find him," Skinner replied. He 
stepped to his left a bit more, opening the door wider as he 
nodded his head toward the interior of the room. Scully fought 
down the urge to come right out and ask if he was really Skinner.

She stepped closer to the door, craning her neck to see into the 
room's center. She kept her gun on Skinner as she moved, though 
it pained her to hold it on him for so long. Is it him, is it him, 
her mind kept asking. She finally caught sight of Gibson through a 
window reflection.

The boy gave her an answer, shaking his head violently and 
mouthing 'No!' as he looked at her. Scully felt the adrenaline rush 
through her as she saw what he was saying.

Unfortunately for her, Skinner saw it too.

Time seemed to slowed as Scully tried to react. She felt herself 
step backwards, felt her arms thrusting the gun out in front of 
her, but it was as though a cocoon of deep snow surrounded her. 
She was much, much too slow.

Skinner grabbed her around the throat and flung her across the 
room like a discarded rag. Though her actions seemed muted, 
Scully's thoughts were racing as a single uninterrupted stream.

/This isn't Skinner he wouldn't do this to me but it looks like 
Skinner it has to be the alien Skinner would never hurt me it has 
to be the alien could Skinner be under mind control it has to be 
the alien Skinner would never hurt me it's the alien what if it is 
Skinner it has to be the alien Skinner would never hurt me how 
can I know how can I know how can I know/

Scully crashed into the cabinets behind her, the glass fronts 
shattering as her body was thrust through them. She felt the 
edges slice into her as she slid to the floor, felt the smaller 
pieces grind beneath her body as she struggled to rise.

Skinner turned away from her, descending on Gibson like a bird 
of prey. Scully hefted the gun, fighting to move faster as she 
brought it to bear on his retreating form.

It isn't Skinner, it isn't Skinner, it isn't Skinner. Her mind 
repeated the mantra over and over again, yet was unable to 
escape the tiny thought that wormed its way into the pauses.

It isn't Skinner, is it? It isn't Skinner, is it? It isn't Skinner, 
is it?

She would never know until it was too late. Tightening her finger 
to shoot her only remaining friend, Scully heard the gun's report 
echo through the room. As the tears began falling, her mind held 
but a single thought...

A suitcase for the moon, please.



    * * * * -30- * * * STORY END * * * -30- * * * * 



AUTHOR'S NOTES:

This final scene intrigued me the instant I saw it.
The concept of having to pull the trigger on a friend,
on someone you love, grabbed hold of me and would not 
let go. No matter how sure you were, no matter how much
you would bet you were right, there would always be 
that instant of terror as you waited.

The poem from which I've taken inspiration is "Funeral
Blues" by W.H. Auden. It is quoted in its entirety after 
these notes. 

I realize the true gist of the poem is more for a lover's
death, but I've always been moved by its beauty for any
major loss in life. At times, I have truly felt that 
nothing could ever be good again, and this poem captures 
that feeling completely. 

This story was also my first attempt at alternating POV.
I realized early on that I needed to tell both Skinner 
Scully's side of things, and this was the only way that
seemed to fit that need.

Please contact me at snark_911@yahoo.com to discuss or 
comment on this story.

Thanks,

~Snark


========================================

Funeral Blues 
W.H. Auden


Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come. 

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He is Dead.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves. 

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong. 

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

========================================